What Conquers All
by moesilva13
Summary: While Bilbo may have told the truth in his novel "There and Back Again", he may not have told you all of it. He saved the most important details for last: The 15th member of Thorin's company was a halfbreed named Aryn.
1. Chapter 1

It began long ago, in a land far away to the East, the like of which you will not find in the world today. There was the city of Dale, it's markets known far and wide, full of the bounties of fine and vale, peaceful and prosperous. It was home to one very special little girl-a Halfling.

Not a Halfling as in the Hobbits of the Shire, no, Aryn was one of a kind. The first of her kind. Her father, Karan, was a dwarf of Moria, and seemed content to mine his life away. But the one time, the only time he left their gates for the outside world, it was the last time he ever saw home.

Elliya was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, a forbidden fruit in an Elf's body. They met be accident, and could have easily looked the other way, but fate would not allow one of these two to go unnoticed by the other. Their courtship was simple, humble, and the beginning of something unbreakable.

Their decision to marry was unheard of, and began an uproar amongst the two cities of Moria and Rivendell. Elliya was a prominent figure from a respected family, and her King would be damned if he let her be swept away by the likes of a Dwarf. Lord Elrond was furious but failed to stop love. Karan was quite the opposite, a mere miner whose status was minute. But his disappearance did not go unnoted, and whispers spread through the caves like wildfire of a dwarf who deserted his kind for the love of an elf.

For the safety of their spouse, man and wife left their homes to start a new life free from oppression and opposition. They settled in the human city of Dale, where Elliya could receive praise for her jewelry, and Karan arose a smithery. Amongst the dizzying happiness of their so-called paradise, fate would interfere again. Both the Elves and Dwarves had only protested mildly because they were sure that the species, seperated by biology, would be unable to bear children. They could let the couple's treachery disappear into legend with no evidence of the affair aside from hear-telling. But they all had been so wrong. This tiny bundle of life with a shock of auburn hair and pointed ears, was proof that love alone is capable of performing miracles. Defying what was thought to be fact, and born out of intentions so pure, their baby girl marked the beginning of an alliance between two races formerly destined for hate.

But for such a blessing the price was almost unsurmountable. Karan and Elliya had given up everything to be together, and custom was once again breathing down their necks. If the humans, however unbiased they claimed to be, were to discover the Halfling's heritage, she might be driven out or even killed. The couple became migrant while Elliya carried their child, but coming home with a child and no story that made sense would mean disaster and disgrace. So they lied and told the community that she was an abandoned Hobbit, a statement no one would question with the child's pointed ears and tiny body. She was even given the surname Olivebranch to distinguish her apart from her adoptive parents.

"...it means peace." Karan purred while stroking the softly furred head of his daughter, her green eyes peering up at him with unrestrained innocence.

Elliya adjusted the bundle in her arms, pressing the infant closer to her breast. "So that the whole world will know what you were meant for. Even if you do not."

The young Aryn was a giant presence for such a small body: always laughing, never bored, and so thankful to be alive. Her parents were blessed with twenty more wonderful years, long enough to watch their precious Aryn become a young woman. She was only 3 and a half feet tall, stunted by unstable genes, yet her spirit seemed to scrape the clouds. Karan and Elliya couldn't be more proud to produce such a lovely creature. But fate was not so kind to them, and now that this most important piece of the future was grown, their services were no longer required.

Among the horizon, a dragon had come to rest his eyes on Dale, so perfectly nestled against the door to his prize: Erebor. The city under the mountain, overflowing with rivers of gold, would fall to him and their pleasant city would not go unscathed.

These years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in. On the morning of Aryn's 20th birthday, the first noise they heard was a sound like a hurricane coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind.

Thorin, a young man at the time, approached the walls with a face of worry. "Sound the alarm. Call out the guards, do it now!"

"What is it?" Balin called back over the wind.

"Dragon. DRAGON!" He yelled into the corridor, covered up by the beast's ungodly screech.

He was a firedrake from the North-Smaug had come. Such wanton death was dealt that day, for this city of man was nothing to Smaug.

* * *

"Happy birthday, my beautiful baby." Karan beamed, rubbing a thick paw over his daughter's thin shoulder and leaning down to place a kiss on her crown.

"I think on this day, it's time for you hold onto this for me." He smiled, reaching behind his mane of brown hair to unclasp a necklace. Upon pulling it from his shirt strings, a teardrop emerald glimmered at the end of agolden chain.

Aryn gasped, throwing her hands up to her face. "Oh father, are you sure? Your mother gave that to you.."

"And it's yours now. I don't need it; you are my jewel."

The dwarf carefully clasped the chain behind her hair, pulling the strands out and over the piece of gold. "See? Both of my treasures are in one place now."

Aryn picked up the stone in her palm, rolling it and the diamonds that formed it's halo against her skin. "Thank you.. I cannot begin to describe what I feel.. I wish th-"

Grroowwwllllll.

Their happy moment was shattered, and the whole family turned with fear to the open window. Stone cracking and fire hissing could be heard in the distance, and a deafening roar that startled them all to cover their ears. Brave Aryn burst from her home at the first terrible screams, keen eyes darting around to search for the source of danger. Her pointed ears upturned to the sound of the alarm, a consonant chord among a dissonant air.

She turned to go back inside, meeting her parent's worried eyes only moments before there was a giant explosion of fire and dust. The impact threw her small body nearly across the street, and when she lifted her head to peer through the rubble, they were gone. Their house was a pile of broken stone and splintered wood, smoking with the makings of the burning building that had fallen upon it.

"MOTHER! FATHER!" She cried, her tiny voice cracking with the strain. Were it not for the houses that seemed to explode around her, Aryn would have clawed through the debri in desperation for a lost cause. Her legs bolted beneath her, and she took off in the direction away from the flames. The wind tore the tears from her eyes, and she blindly managed to pick up a sword from the wreckage of their business down the road. A pony without a rider tore across the path, breighing in fright when Aryn seized his reigns and hopped aboard.

Near the end of the street a child was spotted by the well, clutching the ropes and staring brokenly at the smoldering remains of what could have been a toy.

The Half-Elf's toned arms scooped up the girl, holding her as they managed to dodge a burst of the dragon's breath. The young girl clutched her tunic, sobbing into the rough material.

"Help me, please!"

"Yes, baby. I've got you." Aryn's strong arms balanced the girl in her elbow and managed to clutch the reigns of the galloping horse. "Where are your parents?"

"Oh, mommy! Daddy!" The child cried, pointing behind them at the inferno that Aryn assumed was their humble home.

"Oh my god.." The Halfling whispered in pain, holding someone's daughter close as they tore down the dusty road.

Aryn came upon a set of tied horses, frightened and neighing frantically for help. She set the girl atop the shaggy brown fur, and pried her fingers from her shirt to put them in the pony's mane.

"No, don't leave me! Take me with you!" The tiny stranger shrieked, attempting to jump down.

"No! You can't go where I'm going, it's too dangerous. Ride for the pastures outside the city. That is where the people will go." Aryn spoke while strapping the girls feet inside the stirrups.

"No, please. Don't leave me.." Her sobs hiccuped out of her, bubbling down in hot tears.

"Don't be afraid, little one. Everything will be all right. I promise.. Just get to the survivors along the river. Now go, baby. RUN!" The little girl nodded with tears streaming down her face, burying them in the thick mane when Aryn cut the animal free and it took off into a cloud of smoke.

Armed with a scorched sword and a skittish mount, Aryn ran to look for survivors. She herded a few frightened souls away from falling debri, and kept riding as fast as the animal could take her, dodging cracking stone and bundles of flame. After carrying a small boy and infant to other humans for help, she finally took off for the grasslands. Reaching safe, green grass, she peered down at her ruined home, and the plundering of her neighbors. Erebor was lost, for a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives.

Below, outside the smoldering gates, Thorin urged his people to scatter, and spotted the Elf King high on the ridge of the valley.

"Help us!" He called, pleading with desperate blue eyes. But Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wrath of the dragon. No help came from the Elves that day, or any day since.

Robbed of their homeland, the Dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness, a once mighty people brought low. the young Dwarf Prince took work where he could find it, laboring in the villages of men, but always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright. He had seen dragon fire in the sky, and a city turned to ash. And he never forgave that he never forgot.

The now orphaned Halfling faired as such. The pastures were empty when she reached them. Her trained eyes scanned the ground, tracking hooves or footprints in the dirt, but there were none. No one besides herself had made it that far. She spun the pony around, looking for any survivors along the city walls. Only those few walking alone from the wreckage, counted on a single hand, were anywhere to be seen. Her breath came out in frantic pants, eyes scanning wildly. Jabbing her heels into the pony to search the city again, it reared back, throwing the unfamiliar rider down and off it's back. Aryn landed with a heavy thud and a sharp crack, and felt the makings of tears sting her eyes. She gritted her teeth, cradling her fractured forearm that threatened to break the skin and staring unbelieving at the smoldering rubble that once was her home.

"Mother... FATHER!" The Halfling shouted to nowhere, dropping her head as she gave in to the sobs that racked her body.

Behind her, the pony was neighing frantically, bucking and rearing on the verge of a heart attack. Aryn scowled at the foolish creature, ripping off her outer tunic to drape and twist it around her arm in an excuse for a sling. She shakingly got to her feet, and yanked on the reigns to bring the black snout to her face.

"Listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a pony." She spat.

"I will ride you out of here, or so help me I will feed you to the dragon!" She yelled into it's nostrils.

"Understand?!" As if scolded by it's mother the horse relented, laying his ears back and visibly seeming to sag in the middle. Grumbling under her breath, the Halfling used her good arm to lift herself onto it's back, and pull the reigns in the direction of the sky without smoke.

With only the clothes on her back, a broken arm, and a disgruntled stead, she set out to take refuge with the only people she would pass for: the Hobbits. They welcomed her to their homely holes, where she did her best to hide from the nightmares behind second breakfasts and soft beds. But the fire inside her began to grow, and she left for the Iron Hills, telling herself that her father's people might heal her aching heart. She longed for a distraction, danger, and mistook these feelings for the confusion after a traumatic experience. In actuality, it was her conscience urging her towards a purpose that couldn't be fullfilled in the safety of the Shire. But it was there that she met Gandalf, a wizard who was so fascinated by this lean "Hobbit" that held a fire in her eyes. And it was later that he asked her to join him on an adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Changes were made to chapter 1, re-read for more plot points

* * *

"Gandalf!" A pudgy, blonde Hobbit piped up as he hopped about in the road. "Gandalf!"

"Yes, Master Highwater?" The wizard called back with a smile, puffing on his pipe slowly.

"Gandalf, oh how good it is to see you!" The boy shouted, climbing up into the cart as it pulled in front of his hole.

"And you too, Finnian." A long, heavy grey arm came out to pat the Hobbit lovingly.

"I assume you've just come from Hobbiton, eh?"

"No, Master Highwater. I don't think I'll be going to Hobbiton for awhile. I just traveled there last year, and checked up on the little ones. I'm simply far too busy to travel that far West right now."

"I'm sorry, Gandalf. Those Baggins and Tooks really like you. At least you came to see the Highwaters!"

The wizard chuckled lowly, chewing on his pipe. "Yes, for however briefly."

"Alot's changed since the last time you came, you know."

"Oh, really? How so?" Gandalf muttered, stopping the cart and climbing down from it.

"Well, Ol' Miss Granger finally passed, and what a lovely funeral it was. But there's also the birthing of my sister Sarah's twins-hair like fire. Henrik went and got himself a bow for hunting things much bigger than him. Oh! And we got a new blacksmith-a woman."

At that, Gandalf went from a smile to lifting a curious eyebrow, looking down at the hobbit with confused eyes. "A woman?"

"Yes, sir. Makes the finest locks this side of Bree, and can pretty much fix anything you ask her to. She makes absolutely lovely swords too, though none of the folks here bother to buy any. You should meet her! She's inside right now, putting something in for me."

At that, Finnian's rounded red Hobbit door swung open with indefinite strength, and a dirty little Hobbit wandered her way into the yard. Her face was smeared with soot, and the stains on her tunic were much worse. But bright green eyes shown through the grime, and a shock of auburn hair was pinned back from her face. She was so unlike any hobbits that Gandalf was used to with her lean limbs and wide shoulders, resembling a small elf more than the other Shire-folk.

"Master Highwater! I managed to wrestle the stove from the wall, but it kinda' fought back." She pulled at her ruined clothes. "I can carry it down to the shop and have it fixed by morning."

"Wonderful! Miss Aryn, I would like you to meet a friend of mine. Gandalf the Grey, meet Aryn Olivebranch-smith and metalworker."

"A pleasure, Miss Olivebranch." He extended his hand in a friendly grasp.

"Oh my, I've forgotten my manners. How nice to meet you, Mister Gandalf. Excuse my appearance, I just lost 2 of 3 rounds with a fiesty iron stove." She wiped her slender palms on a clean patch of her shorts before taking the wizard's hand gently.

"What a curious young lady. You are the village's smith?"

"I am. My father taught me what he could, and what he didn't teach me I learned for myself."

"Did he teach you how to wield a sword as well?"

"Aye, that way the ones I made would be practical as well as pretty." She tucked a piece of hair behind her pointed ear, looking up confidently at the wizard who stood twice her size.

"Then I admire you, Lady Aryn. You're quite the unique addition to the Shire."

"You humble me, Gandalf." Her smile was bright and clean, white against her golden skin and the smears of soot.

"Oh no, you have humbled me."

* * *

Several years would go by before their next meeting, this time for the birth of a Longfellow, a cherub-looking child with his fair share of sandy-brown curls. It was no small party that the Hobbits threw when celebrating a life, either a new or the rememberance of an old one. But inside Miss Aryn's modest hole, there was no celebration. Anyone would have guessed that she was pressing a blouse, or brushing her auburn waves in preparations for the night ahead. Instead, the Halfling was lacing up her walking shoes, possibly the only pair of shoes within a hundred miles, and packing a leather bag with clothes and food.

The fireworks were all lined up in the back of Gandalf's cart, each standing proud with a coat of colorful paper. The wizard was puffing on his pipe lightly, sitting upon the bench beside his horse, and watching all of the hobbits busy themselves with duties for the night's festivities. They bustled and scrambled like happy ants, so eager to get the job done.

He chuckled around the wood of his pipe, when a flicker of something over the hill caught his sensitive eyes. It was Aryn, coming from her hole with a bed roll and a worried frown. She was packing a pony, tightenings the straps on it's belly.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice startled her, and she jumped with ahand on her dagger.

"Oh, Gandalf.. You scared me." She didn't respond, and her hands went back to rearranging bags and straps.

"What are you doing, Aryn?"

She turned around, huffing through her nostrils. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving the Shire? But why?"

"Because I have to, Gandalf." She pulled herself up, throwing one leg over the animal's back.

"I'm restless to the point I can't stand it. This place is all good food and feathered pillows, and I thought that's what I needed, but it's not. I want more than just these soft hills and lazy rivers. I need.. something else. I don't belong here, Gandalf. Right about now, I don't feel like I belong anywhere."

"And where would you go to find yourself, Aryn?"

"I'm off to the Iron Hills."

".. To be with the Dwarves?" The wizard chewed thoughtfully on his pipe, looking her strange figure up and down. She had the ears and stature of a Hobbit, but there was something odd, foreign, about her that he couldn't quite place. Her desire to live with Dwarves was only adding to the riddle that was this fascinating creature.

"I can't fulfill this ache in my heart where I am now. There are forces out my control pulling me away from the Shire, and I have no choice but to follow. I'm stumbling through life, pretending I know what I'm doing. Perhaps something great will be waiting for me at the end of my journey."

The wizard regarded her with sad eyes, placing one large hand on her knee. "I believe, Aryn, that the smallest things are what keep this world alive and moving forward. We're all falling through life, with some lack of grace, but I believe your destination is truly special. I've never met anyone quite like you, Aryn Olivebranch."

His calloused hand came up to stroke the hair from her high cheekbone. "A young, lady Hobbit with a fire in her eyes that will not be tamed. I don't doubt we'll meet again soon, and you can show me your new home in the Iron Hills."

She leaned into his palm, smiling gently. "Maybe the Blue Mountains, wherever the wind decides to take me... Goodbye, Gandalf."

"Not goodbye, Aryn. Till we meet again." The wizard smiled down at her, turning to follow the line her pony made in the mud as it galloped into the shower that was beginning to fall over the Shire. And as the tiny raindrops fell over the brim of his hat, he smiled. If Fate was so kind, the Hobbit would soon stumble across the adventure she so searched for. Little did he know, it would be by his own intervention that Aryn got that chance.

* * *

The heat of the smithery was sweltering, and it exploded in a hiss of steam when Aryn opened the door to the outside. She panted lightly, rubbing sweat and soot from her brow as she stepped into the light of the hallway, closing the basement door behind her. The house was quiet in the young hours, and Aryn had worked all night to finish those swords by this morning. Her braids clung to her sweaty shoulders, barred through the sleeveless tunic and open collar.

"Aryn! Where are ye', lassie?" A gruff voice called from somewhere else in the house.

"Down here!" She yelled back, climbing the steps to meet the visitor.

"Good girl, you're awake. I have a letter for yo-" The dwarf paused, taking in her dirty appearance with raised, bushy brown eyebrows. "-Ye' finished the swords?"

"Yes.." She panted, smiling with heavy eyes.

"Oh, bravo lassie! Fultin will be surely pay extra now, ye' having finished so early. Anyways! I have a letter for ye', the carrier met me on the porch as I walked up just now."

Aryn cleared her dry throat, wiping her damp hands on a somewhat clean part of her shorts before taking the folded piece of parchment. "Thank you, Brunar."

The elder dwarf left her on the steps to read, calling back over his shoulder. "Poor girl must be exhausted. I'll pour some ale and fix ye' something to eat."

Aryn couldn't find a name besides her own anywhere on the outside, so she carefully pulled back the wax seal with her nail. The document fell open onto the floor, covered in black scrawl, and even had flaps on the sides to reveal more writing. A slip of paper of a lighter stain fluttered to the floor, tiny in comparison to the document that was almost as tall as she was.

"My dear Aryn.." She read aloud.

_You once told me that you believed you were destined for great things. I believe that time has come. I would be honored if you would join me on this adventure, and the documents enclosed should explain most of what you need to know. Three weeks from the day you recieve this letter, I and our company will gather in the Shire. You know where Bag End is, although you have never been there. I trust you will not be late for dinner._

_-Gandalf_

The Halfling's eyes lit up as she bolted for the kitchen.

"Brunar! I need a witness!"

* * *

**AN:** Thanks for reading, reviews are always welcome! Sorry for the short chapter, but the next shall contain dwarves


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Aside from the introduction (Chapter 1), any narration from Bilbo's point of view or character's personal thoughts, depending on the context, will be made in italics to set them apart from the story.

* * *

_That, my dear Frodo, is where I come in. For quite by chance, and the will of a wizard, fate decided I would become part of this tale. It began, well, it began as you might expect: in a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with worms and oozy smells. This was a Hobbit hole, and that means good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home._

_Had I known one of my best friends was going to come through the door that night, I might have made a point to tidy up._

* * *

The journey to Bag End took almost the entire three weeks from the arrival of the contract, and she made it a point to leave as soon as she had a shower and packed a bag. Brunar had of course volunteered to look after the homestead while she was away, probably up to a few years with delays. He would perform general upkeep, sort the mail, and tend the woodland creatures who depended on the bowl of table scraps she kept on the porch.

That last day in the Iron Hills was rushed, excited, and Aryn left her home for the last time quite unceremoniously. Her best friend had shed a single manly tear as he hugged her goodbye, grumbling about how she was "leaving the nest" and how proud he was of her. The next thing he did was gripe about how she "could have any of his ponies", why on this green Earth did she want Henry?

"Henry is a wonderful boy, I trust him with my life over any young steed you could conjure up."

"But.. he's so OLD. Poor thing will drop dead before you reach Bree, let alone the Shire and beyond. Ye' sure you don't want Lizzy or Kai?"

"I'll be fine, Brunar. Have some faith in ol' Henry. He has some fight left in him." She smiled down at the pony, greying around his chocolate mouth and sprouting streaks of white in his blonde mane.

"Hmm. There's something left in him, all right. It's called a heart attack."

"Oh, hush. You'll hurt his feelings. I need him bright eyed and bushy tailed for the year ahead."

"Well, good luck, Aryn.. We're all going to miss ye' more than you realize. I'll do my best to keep up business here for when ye' get back." His big grey eyes downturned, and they looked as if they were about to leak a tear again.

"...Ye' will come back, won't ye?"

"Who, me? You'd have to either kill me or marry me off to keep me away from this place. And don't both of those seem highely unlikely?"

"Aryn, I'm serious. This isn't a game, or holiday. Yur' wading into a war."

"I'm trying to remain optimistic, Brunar. Won't you play with me?"

"Optimism won't stop a sword!"

"We'll it's when we stop believing that we can succeed that we fail... I'm coming home. I promise."

* * *

Upon reaching the Shire though, Henry's breathing was labored and he all but stumbled up the winding roads and rolling hills.

"Come on, baby, we're almost to the top." She whispered sweet words to the elder pony, rubbing his neck and hopping off to walk him up the path to Bag End.

Her hands were digging in the pack of his haunches to fetch a rope to tie him with, when the hide under her fingers dropped out. Henry had fallen to his knees, folding his legs under him to lay down in the herbs by the door.

Aryn panicked, bending down beside him to check his heart rate and gently prodded his legs to check for any bad joints.

"Healthy as a horse.." She murmured. "No elevated heartbeat, breathing only slightly labored."

She bent down by his snout, yelling when he puffed a gust of air into her face. "Oh! You're just lazy, you spoiled git."

* * *

_Riinnggg._ The bell's sound was pleasant, audible even outside.

"No, no, no! Not again, I already have more dwarves than I can attempt to supervise, this is-"

"-Calm down, Master Bilbo, our last two guests should be no trouble at all." Aryn's slim eyebrow shot up to her hairline at the bickering voices she heard inside. One of which she recognized as Gandalf, and one she did not. Although it was significantly higher pitched, probably because he was angry, was undoubtedly male.

"What is that supposed to mean, Gandalf? Who is at my door now?" His little paw plucked open the door to reveal a woman. Too short to be human, and eye-to-eye with the flustered man. Her auburn hair was braided away from her face like he had observed on the dwarves, yet a few rogue strands came down to rest on high cheekbones. Two large, pointed ears stuck up from the wavy locks, and Bilbo almost sagged with a rush of relief.

_Another hobbit. This should be fairly simple._

Although she looked like no hobbit he had ever seen-with obvious lean muscles that rolled under tanned skin, and healthy hips (what his mother would have snorted and called "child-bearing"). Her face was kind, with angular features except for a wide button nose, quite beautiful in a foreign way that was so unlike the women of the Shire.

She looked confused at the bustle behind the Hobbits head, but her gaping mouth got no chance to speak when Gandalf came to the door beside him. "Aryn! Right on time, as always. This is your most gracious host, Bilbo Baggins."

"Aryn Olivebranch. At your service, Master Baggins." The little lady smiled charmingly, extending her arm in a hearty handshake and grinning when the other Hobbit stumbled under the strength of her grip.

"Good heavens." He whispered under his breath, stretching his fingers delicately.

"Won't you come in, Aryn? I simply must introduce you to everyone, although we're waiting on one more." He waved for her to follow him, and Bilbo stood back, waiting to close the door.

"I hope the dwarves won't be too much trouble, Mr. Baggins." Aryn smiled at him, touching his shoulder gently.

"Bofur, Bombur, get yourself seated, I have an announcement to make." Bilbo shuffled himself after the wizard, curious in his perch by the archway.

"Gentleman, I would like you all to meet someone. Aryn Olivebranch, of the Iron Hills."

"You're a dwarf?" Dwalin piped up, thoroughly confused and seated closest to her.

"But she's got points on her ears!" Fili exclaimed.

"And not hairy from what I can see." Gloin mentally noted, leaning back to see her legs from underneath the table before being smacked on the arm by Dori. Something was muttered about manners while Gloin whispered back a half-hearted apology.

The woman's small paw came up to clasp her ears, and she made a confused sound. "Oh! No, I was born a hobbit, but I've lived in the Iron Hills for quite a long time."

"Don't be shy, lassie, come and sit down. Grab a plate, any friend of our kind is a friend of our company." Bofur extended his arm kindly, coaxing her to take a chair next to his side.

"If you're anything like my friends back home, we'll be family soon enough." Aryn beamed, shaking Bofur's hand.

"Sounds good to me!" Fili declared, holding up his ale. He almost choked as it spilt, knocked nearly out of his hand when Kili bolted from his seat, scurrying to the front of the table.

Aryn nearly bent over backwards at the overzealous young man, eyes widening as he clumsily entered her personal space. "I would like to be the first of my brethren to introduce himself properly in your presence, my lady. I am Kili, son of Dis."

He bent down, looking up with eager eyes as he kissed the back of her hand. "Welcome to our humble company."

"Oh, you're sweet." She playfully slapped his cheek as he grinned up at her. Dwalin jumped up from his seat, having seen enough, and roughly yanked the boy's tunic.

"Take your seat, boy. You've made a big enough fool of yourself for one evening."

Aryn left them to reprimand one of their youngest, and picked up a plate from the end of the table. She found Bilbo in the pantry, mourning over his ransacked inventory. "Are you quite alright, Mr. Baggins?"

"I don't know, honestly. Please tell you're.. normal. Mm, not ravenous?" His shoulders sagged in defeat, trying to be friendly.

"My appetite matches my size, so I'll be the least of your worries." She mumbled, picking up a few pieces of fruit and bread onto her plate before turning to leave.

Bilbo winced at the sound of gulping and loud belching coming from the dining room. "Maybe it'll be nice to have someone like me around-you know, another hobbit-so I don't feel so helpless.."

She turned back, pausing with a surprising look of pity. "..Yes, someone like you."

Gandalf continued to count on his fingers, smiling at the woman who walked passed him. "I'm afraid we're still one dwarf short."

Dwalin answered from his stance where he was awaiting the lamb and puffed on a pipe. "He's late, is all. He traveled north for a meeting with our kin. He'll be here soon, I'm sure."

* * *

_At the time, I had been overwhelmed, made an emotional wreck by the state of my home and food stores, so much that I almost missed the merry gathering the dwarves had created in my dining room. Especially Aryn, I watched her laugh and carry on, as if they had known eachother for years. It fascinated me, this young lady who was everything I was not, yet we were both Hobbits, and that was from what I saw the only thing we had in common. _

_I wanted to talk to her, know more about her, and thought maybe if I had just one friend.. then I could tolerate whatever Gandalf had in store for us._

* * *

"Oh, come now, Mr. Baggins, there's no harm to your dishes." The female cooed, following him after they watched the dwarves spontaneously sing as they cleaned up their mess.

"You say that now, but it's only a matter of time before I hear a mighty crash and-" He was silenced, struck dumb by the neat stacks that awaited him at the table. The air escaped his lungs in a rush.

Knock. Knock. The company froze with the heavy pounds at the door.

Gandalf was the bravest to speak. ".. He's here."

The round door creaked open to reveal a handsome dwarf, with melancholy blue eyes and a thick mane of black hair. "Gandalf." He replied to the invitation, sounding bored. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

"What?" Bilbo protested, walking forward. "There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago."

"Actually.." Gandalf said, repentant in his low tone. "There is a mark on the door, I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield."

"So..." The Prince stepped forward, surveying him with his eyes. "This is the Hobbit."

"Actually, we're up to two now." Bofur offered behind his pipe.

Thorin looked around, spinning until he settled his eyes on the only other unfamiliar face. His blue orbs widened a bit at her strange beauty, but quickly hardened into anything but welcoming. "A hobbit-a woman. If this is a joke, Gandalf, I am not laughing-"

"Hey." Aryn piped up, bristling with offense, and was promptly ignored.

Thorin turned to the other hobbit instead, hunting to find some reason to accept the pair. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Axe, or sword? What's your weapon of choice?"

"Well, I do have some skill at 'conkers', if you must know. But I fail to see.. why.. that's relevant." The hobbit shifted uneasily under his circling gaze, but stared up defiantly.

"Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer, than a burglar." The collection of dwarves chuckled behind the intimidating figure in unison.

"And you, lady Hobbit? What skills can you offer me besides a pretty face to distract the enemy?"

By now the red highlights in her braids were almost steaming, and her green eyes did not look away from his challenge. There was the sound of metal unsheathed, and she created a wave of startled gasps when she yanked the sword from her belt and opened it before his eyes. No one spoke to stop the conflict, but they all looked on helplessly with wide eyes.

"Swords, made by mine own hands, and I can land a killing blow on anything I can't outrun. I may be a woman, but I am just as much a warrior. Do not mistake me for anything less."

The room was thick with tension, and all eyes were trained on the pair. Thorin took the blade from her hands, only breaking their gaze to scan the bright metal and short handle. The next sounds in the quiet room were the snap of the blade being sheathed, and Thorin's low voice.

"What is your name, little flame?"

"Aryn Olivebranch."

He promptly rolled his eyes and handed her back the blade, turning to walk away with a tone of finality and sarcasm. "For such a fiery spirit, your name means 'peace' in every language. But for what it's worth, that's a lovely dagger."  
_  
_


	4. Chapter 4

"Lovely dagger.." Aryn sneered under her breath, watching the dwarves retreat to the dining room. She walked to the window, checking her reflection and twisting her mouth in a frown. The glass fogged with her hot sigh when a voice came from behind.

"Don't let what Thorin said upset you.. I think it's a beautiful sword." Bilbo offered, smiling at the stranger.

"Oh, I don't plan to, Mister Baggins. His words are thorns-they sting but are too small to fuss over." She smiled back, tucking a piece of hair behind a pointed ear.

".. Can I ask you a question?" He piped up timidly, threading his fingers together and licking his lips nervously.

"You may."

"Why are you here? Your a very pretty girl, and these dwarves aren't exactly involved in friendly business."

She paused before answering. ".. I'm helping a friend. Gandalf has been a part of my life for years, and he asked me to come."

"Do you know exactly what you're getting into?"

"Do you? I know the story, but you of all people need to hear this." She pointed to the dining room, walking the Hobbit with one hand on his unsteady arm.

* * *

The dwarves had talked amongst themselves for several minutes, reliving the past in expressions across their faces. As for the journey ahead, Gandalf was correct that the men around that table would do anything for the reward he offered.

"The task I ask of you will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori piped up from the end of the table, pointing to the Hobbits.

"Hm. A good one too. An expert, I'd imagine." Bilbo answered, oblivious.

Balin looked at him skeptically. "And are you? Either of you?"

Bilbo looked around and back to Aryn. "Are we what?"

"Expert burglars, Mr. Baggins. I'm compact and quick, but I'll admit I wasn't asked to join because I could sneak past anything. It must be you."

"Me? What, no! I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins." Balin grimaced. "He's hardly burglar-material."

"Aye.." Dawlin added, looking the male Hobbit up and down. "The wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor 'fend for themselves."

"But then who will be our burglar? You can't expect me to be it, can you?" Aryn looked accusingly at Bilbo and the table of dwarves.

Dwalin looked over at the little woman with uncharacteristically soft eyes. "You're the only one around who has any prayer, lassie. It has to be you."

"But-"

"-You heard the little lady, she doesn't want to do it-" Gloin called to the front.

"-She has no choice, Gloin-"

The table quickly erupted into a chorus of shouts and various arguments, some making obscene hand gestures and others choosing to slam their palms on the wood.

Gandalf began to shake in anger, standing to his full height in the cramped dining room. His presence loomed over them all, darkening the air and exciting it with magic. "Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is."

"Whew." Aryn whispered, visibly relaxing.

He continued. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage."

Gandalf turned to Thorin, letting his anger dissipate slightly. "You asked me to find at least two more members to this company, and I have chosen these two. Mister Baggins will fulfill the necessary role as our burglar, and Aryn will make one more warrior that you have at your disposal. They may not be the most impressive pair, but they have more to offer than any of you know.. Including themselves. You must trust me on this."

Aryn made a sound at Gandalf when he called them unimpressive, but she looked to her left at the male Hobbit, and she had to admit he was right.

Thorin looked at Gandalf for several hard moments before nodding. "..Very well. We'll do it your way. Give him the contract."

Balin immediately jumped up, ignoring Bilbo's protests and pulling a folded bundle of parchment from his coat. "It's just the usual: summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remunerations, funeral arrangements, so forth."

The contract landed heavily against his chest where Thorin slapped it. "Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo cried.

The parchment fell down to hang in all it's glory, over ten panels long. He looked over at Aryn who had her arms crossed and leaned against the archway. "..Would you like to walk me through it?"

She looked surprised, and answered immediately. "I didn't read it. I just.. signed it."

"Oh, dear." He sighed, mumbling to himself as he read.

Meanwhile, Thorin leaned close to Gandalf to whisper a warning. "I cannot guarantee their safety. Especially the woman, she will receive no special treatment. I will not be responsible for their fates."

"...Agreed."

Bilbo read on, ignoring the murmurs in the dining room. "Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fifteenth of total profit, if any. Hmm, seems fair... not responsible for injuries sustained... including but not limited to lacerations. Evisceration? Incineration?" He looked accusingly over to the dwarves.

Bofur was the happiest to oblige. "Oh, yes! He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye!"

"Oi!" Aryn warned, scolding Bofur with her eyes.

Bilbo immediately stopped reading to pant lightly, making an exasperated noise and bending over to grab his knees.

Balin made an exhausted face. "Ye' all right, laddie?"

"Yeah.. Feel a bit faint."

"Think furnace with wings!" Bofur continued.

"Air, air, I need air-"

"-flash of light, searing pain, then poof! Yer' nothin' more than a pile of ash-" Aryn reached up to put her hand over Bofur's mouth, shushing him and turning her head to watch Bilbo closely. They all did, holding their breath and waiting.

He swayed for a moment, sucking in deep breaths before standing still. "... Nope."

Thud. The Hobbit tipped over, fainting on the rug.

Aryn took her hand from Bofur's mouth to lightly punch his chest. "Oh, now look what you've done."

* * *

After Gandalf had successfully dumped Bilbo into his favorite chair and sobered him up with a cup of tea, he quietly asked Aryn to leave. They were going to have a long discussion, he'd said, where he would finally knock some sense into this stubborn Hobbit.

She chatted quietly with the dwarves, answering questions but not venturing to make very much conversation on her part. Her mind was distracted by the hushed voices in the next room, which only fell in tonal energy until Bilbo Baggins emerged with a troubled expression on his face, and refused to make eye contact as he made a beeline for his room. What Aryn feared had become a reality.

"It appears we have lost our burglar." Balin sighed from down the hall as he spoke privately with Thorin.

Aryn sat very still for a few moments, only moving when Gandalf came to place his heavy hand on her shoulder, muttering something about how she should not worry, and other nonsense. She stood slowly, clearing her throat and taking a pair of Gandalf's fingers in her small palm.

"I won't let you down, Gandalf. I promise."

The wizard smiled down at her with pitying eyes, and took his hand back to gently stroke the hair beside her face. "Oh, Aryn. My dear, nothing is certain. We'll let dawn make the final decision. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course, I do.."

"Then let us not go to bed with a heavy heart. Get plenty of sleep, for we have a very big day ahead of us tomorrow." He smiled again, ruffling her bangs and walking away to light his pipe.

She watched his back as he left, and vaguely made a mental note that the dwarves were gathering in the sitting room beside the fire. Her heart couldn't help but be weighted down with an emotion she had not felt in decades: fear. A fear of failure, fear of death, fear of things she did not yet know. And as she removed her clothes to crawl under the duvet that night, the weight of reality was upon her. But there was no room for thought now. If she paused long enough to look around at the danger and dragon she was about to face, common sense might convince her to go home.

And so, in the eve of the departure, Aryn could not accept defeat. Her arms came from under the blanket to finger her pendant, watching as the small hearth danced amber light across the emerald's surface. In the face of adversity, she would remain strong like her parents had done before her.

The fear of the unknown would not separate her from all the benefits that came with not knowing.

* * *

The next morning, dawn had come and stayed gone for awhile when the dwarves were leaving. They wolfed down the last of their breakfast, filing out the door with sated stomaches and snacks for later. Aryn was fastening the buttons of her blouse, strapping up her limited outer armor and finally slipped a lonely apple into her pocket. She padded down the corridor, one of the last to leave, and paused at their host's door. Her lips pursed in thought at she rapped gently on the wood.

".. Mr. Baggins?" The door was ajar, and her head poked through to scan the room. Poor Bilbo had fallen asleep as hard as a log, not even bothering to change his clothes pull back the duvet.

She crept inside, approaching the bed and reaching out to shake his shoulder. "Bilbo? One last chance to change your mind."

The man didn't stir, and only snorted at the rolling of his shoulder under her palm. Her full lips curled into a frown, and she lowered her eyes sadly. "You know, I didn't know it until I met you, Bilbo Baggins.. But I don't want to be the burglar. These men are asking me to be nothing that I have ever trained for. And I am afraid."

She paused, clearing her throat and rubbing her eyes nervously. "I know you can't hear me, and that is probably the only reason I spoke my mind. But, on a lighter note, thank you for your hospitality and.. Goodbye, Mr. Baggins. I'm sorry you won't be joining us."

Her hands fidgeted, patting the hobbit's unruly curls and turning to leave. Thorin had been at the door, sympathizing with the little lady that was afraid of the shoes she had to fill. He straightened, clearing his throat and appearing to have just walked up when Aryn came to the doorway.

"Lady Aryn." He greeted roughly, nodding his head at her.

"Master Oakenshield." She returned, pulling the door to the frame and leaving it unlatched.

"We'll be leaving soon. Have you had breakfast?"

"I am fine without it. You act eager to have me along." She crossed her arms defiantly, although unsure why she was still offended from the previous night. "I would have thought you intended to leave me behind."

"If I had my way, I would have." He shot back a little louder than he wanted, clearing his throat and reigning himself in. "But you would just follow, so I'll at least have you fed. You're no good to me hungry and whining."

She hooked a tiny hand in her pocket, fishing out the apple from before. "Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

Her lips curled back to reveal sharp white teeth when they bit a healthy chunk of the apple's flesh. Thorin's eyes narrowed when they caught her hips in a victorious gait as she walked away. This woman would try his patience all the way to Erebor, and he feared she would stay just to annoy him. He went to follow when she turned, swallowing the red fruit before frowning at him. Sunlight was flooding the space behind her, and cast a silhouette that reflected her downcast mouth.

".. I have no doubts that you are a great leader. Do not ruin my respect for you by belittling me as a soldier. I volunteered to be here.. And I really don't want to disappoint you."

The King's eyes widened when the warmth of her tone flooded his cold gaze. In this light, against these tiny furnishings, her stature seem to tower over all else, and his opinion of her began to grow. This one was strong, and would not be so easily discouraged. Maybe deep down, he didn't want her to be.

Perhaps he could tolerate this woman after all.

* * *

Outside the dwarves were saddling their ponies, strapping various packs on their haunches and tightening assorted straps accordingly. Aryn had finished her apple to the core, suckling the last bit of flesh before tossing the remains into the garden behind a shrub that was grateful for the fertilizer.

The pony who she had ridden from Dale turned out to be a lovely friend, with a steady gait and the speed of a bird in flight. His grandson was worthy of a similar title, with a chocolate coat and honey blonde mane that ran in the family. But Henry was old, not very fond of long journeys, and Aryn preferred to ride him bareback with just a blanket that had "saddle bags" sewn on either side.

She greeted him fondly, rubbing his nose and placing kisses on the white stripe that divided his face nearly in half. "Good morning, my brave baby."

Her mounting was practiced, and she leapt atop his thick middle with no struggle, grabbing a handful of golden locks. Thorin's eyes widened when he watched her, and he stopped adjusting his own pony to walk over. "You don't use a saddle?"

"No, Sir. Henry's got many years under his belt and a saddle is just extra weight."

"He needs support, Aryn, or he'll fall dead in the first hundred miles. Dwalin, get him Daisy's saddle!" The king called gruffly to his second in command, waving for the other dwarf to come over.

"I think I know my pony, Master Oakenshield. I can-"

"-Come down. If we have to run, you'll slip right off and crack your skull open or get stepped on. You're not riding without a saddle." He made an impatient motion with his hand, offering it to help her onto the ground.

"But-! Oh, fine.." She huffed, gently pushing the hand away and hopping down on her own. Thorin might have looked disappointed that she dismissed him if he weren't strapping the old pony in. Henry chuffed, making it plain that he hadn't worn a bridle in years and was not at all pleased.

"..Are you satisfied?" Aryn sighed, looking up at the dwarf before uncrossing her arms to lift herself up onto the stiff saddle. Her mouth twisted in discomfort, squirming to find a good position.

"Sit still." Thorin chided, gently grasping her tiny foot and slipping it inside the stirrup, tightening the straps to accommodate her legs. Aryn's face immediately softened, watching with wide eyes as he took the same care to the other foot, testing the integrity of the leather.

"Is this all right?" He asked, looking up with eyes brilliantly blue in the morning sunshine, and not yet releasing her calf.

Her mind skipped, trying to comprehend the humbling gesture he bestowed upon her.

".. Yes." She said softly, meaning the lingering hand on her lower leg, and feeling embarrassed when the nature of his question dawned on her. "The saddle I mean."

His eyebrow raised in surprise, and he quickly folded back into his rough, indifferent self. "Let's move out. We've lingered long enough here."

Aryn picked up the reigns without thinking, unable to tear her eyes away the strong back that walked away from her. Perhaps strength and power weren't the only pillars of their Captain's character. Maybe kindness and-dare we say-love nestled themselves amongst the iron bars of the dwarf King's heart.


	5. Chapter 5

The order along the trail was centered mostly around rank. Thorin and Dwalin lead the line while those content to follow did exactly that. Henry clunked along, stepping hard in his idea of a tantrum for the leather straps along his belly and mouth. Aryn had one hand on the reigns and the other in his mane, scratching lightly and helping him relax. Thorin softened his eyes as he looked back and heard her soft mutterings to the animal. However, the knowing smirk from his second-in-command rubbed his pride against the grain.

He called back over his shoulder. "If you patronize that animal the whole way, he'll never get used to what is good for him."

"I regret to inform you that comforting is not the same as patronizing."

"It was merely a suggestion to keep the journey reasonably quiet."

"If this is how you're going to behave, I still have time to turn around-"

"-Why don't you-?!"

"-WAIT!" Bilbo cried, the contract waving behind him like a flag. "WAIT!"

Thorin looked up to spy the Hobbit galloping towards them. He glanced over at Aryn, meeting her gaze with a sigh of defeat. They could put aside their differences for Bilbo. For now.

"I signed it." The Hobbit panted happily, smiling when Balin examined the signature under his looking glass.

"Well, everything seems to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

He grinned up at the others, looking confused at their awkward expressions. "What'd I miss?"

Thorin shook his head, dodging the question. "Give him a pony."

"No no no, that won't be necessary. I've done my fair share of walking on holidays, you see. Even got as far as Frogmorton once-AH!"

The Hobbit shrieked as he was lifted by his coat to be set atop a nickering pony. She had a sweet disposition, Myrtle did, but Bilbo still held the reigns away from his body in apprehension.

"You have to relax, Master Baggins." Aryn spoke gently as she came to ride beside him. "They can sense your nervousness, and it makes them skittish."

"I'm just not.. a huge fan of something with a mind of it's own bobbing about between my legs."

"You'll get used to it, or might even learn to like it."

Gandalf came up to ride beside them. "You'll have to get used to a lot of things before our journey ends, Bilbo Baggins. You were born to the rolling hills and little rivers of the Shire, but home is now behind you. The world is ahead."

* * *

Most nights, the company was not so fortunate as to have access to a bath. The only running water sources were few and far between, sometimes leaving them up to a week without a cool stream or river to scrape away the dirt and grime.

But occasionally, with a good amount of luck and a keen ear, the company could come by their next bath. This was one such night, and a pecking order had formed that signaled when it was their turn to go clean up. Though several of the older males went in groups, for protection and the sake of time, the conservative Hobbits would not hear of such a thing. Aryn had been one of the first to go because it was neither practical to send her late and alone in the dark or insist she take an escort. The final decision seemed best, and their lady hobbit went to bathe while the rest of the company had dinner.

Bilbo returned a while later, having been one of the last, and settled his spare clothes into the pack that was laid out next to his bed roll. The Dwarves were mostly clean, and had taken to sitting by the fire while they dried. All except for a few were settled in only their tunics, letting their overcoats receive a proper airing-out on the trees nearby. The male Hobbit ran a hand over his damp curls, wiping a bit of moisture from around one pointed ear. His blue eyes scanned over the camp, fascinated by the little grooming habits that could only be witnessed in these rare times.

The rougher men, especially Dwalin, did no such thing, and were content to let the night air put life back into their long locks. Kili had removed the silver clasp that held the hair away from his face, and occasionally tucked an unruly piece behind his large, round ear. A few were absentmindedly loving their beards with their fingers, carefully combing out any debris or tangle that had collected over the last few days.

And then there was the vain, who were busying themselves around the fire with precise fingers that wound intricate braids and skillfully crafted adornments. Fili actually carried a small metal comb that he frequented with.

Bilbo couldn't help but smile as he observed, relishing in this most intimate of moments that told a story about each individual. His gaze caught on a particularly red spark of color when he noticed Aryn, who was not so accustomed to the chilly air and sat closer than anyone to the crackling fire. She sat balanced on her knees, arms flexing under her overcoat as she took the most delicate care in her braids. The pattern was intricate, perhaps quite personal, and nestled itself proudly amongst her waves. Tiny twin braids that resembled Fili's were secured to the back of her head with a golden clasp. The rest came down to fall over her shoulders, reflecting back the light of the fire.

"You braid hair like a Dwarf.." He muttered in awe.

She seemed caught off guard, deep in her own thoughts, and turned to smile at him. "I did used to live with Dwarves, you know. It's a skill you pick up on."

_That's a lie._ Her conscience said to herself. _Your father has put those braids in your hair since you were child. It's a design his mother put in his own hair. After he died, you didn't brush that nest of yours until you could recreate them exactly._

Bilbo's voice cut through her thoughts, dispersing the image of Karan holding the young girl in his lap to tie back the braids from her face.

"A quite handy skill, actually. I might want to learn someday just to say I can." Bilbo mumbled, picking at a string in his sleeve.

Aryn was the only one to chuckle out-loud. "Their culture is quite different from Hobbits. If I was to braid your hair, or you mine, you wouldn't be going home as a bachelor, Mr. Baggins."

"What? O-Oh! Hmm." He cleared his throat, turning red up to the tips of ears and waving his hands dismissively. "If those are the implications then there will be none of that, thank you."

Kili piped up with a confused, twisted face. "I don't think it works the same way because neither of you are dwarves. If one of us was to perform the ritual, that's a different story. But you are both Hobbits, right?" He drew out the question in a small laugh.

Aryn chuckled awkwardly, rubbing a hand over her brow.

"Oh, yes, of course. B-But it's a custom I am.. used to. I would feel uncomfortable." She scratched her neck nervously, rubbing her hair line.

"It's all right, Aryn." Bilbo comforted, holding up a pudgy hand. "I won't make you feel uncomfortable-forget I even said anything. I-In fact, I'll change the conversation by saying that.. you look very nice."

"Thank you, Bilbo, that's very kind." The Halfling smiled gently, sitting back against the log where their Captain was perched. She rubbed her forearms lightly, shivering under the chilled mountain breeze.

Thorin took his gaze from the Hobbit to look down at Aryn's shivering form with fond eyes and a thin mouth. He contemplated offering her the fur that sat atop his own shoulders. She jumped when she felt the garment against the back of her neck, and looked up at him with obvious confusion. He merely cleared his throat, placing it over her back.

"You're no good to me sick."

".. Yes, Sir. Thank you." She pulled the fur closer to her face, smiling when she thought no bothered to look.

Later on, in the small hours of the morning, Bilbo was awoken by the snoring of the men around the fire. He rolled over in annoyance just to be startled by a ripping shriek in the distance.

"What was that?!" Bilbo demanded to know, walking over to the dwarves as if they would protect him.

Kili looked in the direction of the cries, his eyes widening in realization. "Orcs."

"Orcs?" The hobbit repeated, perplexed and frightening.

Fili's lips left his pipe for a moment. "Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there."

At that Aryn stirred in her bed roll, pretending to adjust the position of her sleep. She listened to the men worry, talking softly amongst themselves. Their tones dropped to a solemn lament, and Balin began to tell the story of the Battle of Moria for the young ones and their new burglar. Aryn listened with peaked interest, wondering briefly what she was doing at the same time. While Thorin was dealing with the death of his grandfather and the disappearance of his father, Aryn's biggest worry was if the linens would be dry by nightfall.

_Well, not exactly._

The Halfling's humble abode resided in the Whitfurrows of the Shire, but she was willing to travel in either direction to Bree or Frogmorton for work. In the East Farthings, Aryn's smithery was making a prominent name for itself, and was regarded highly amongst Men and Hobbits alike.

The night she thought of was in the fall, and business had called her to Bree. The farmers of the town demanded a delivery of horseshoes in preparation for the fast-approaching harvest. The haul was impressive, and Aryn had spent weeks working on such a large order. To celebrate, she stopped by the Prancing Pony for a drink and a good night's rest before she set out for home.

The entire day it had rained albeit lightly, and Aryn was thoroughly soaked by the time she walked into town and reached the inn. The bartender behind the counter was an aging fellow with a peppered beard and friendly eyes. He heard a tiny sneeze and peered over the edge towards the door.

"Well, hello there, little one! What's a tiny woman like you doing out at this time of night?" He handed her a scrap of cloth to wipe her wet face and nose.

"Thank you, Sir. I was on my way home, but I'm afraid I won't make it back in any decent amount of time. Do you have a room for the night?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do. Have you eaten yet?" He put down the glass he was cleaning to exchange her coins for a brass key.

She sniffled and held back another sneeze. "I'm afraid not. I'll just go change my clothes, can you have something set out with a pint for me?"

"I'll put it out on the corner table, little miss."

The woman was back a few minutes later, shedding her damp clothes by the bedroom door and coming to the dining hall in a fresh tunic and leggings. She found a plate of a warm soup and a drink on the table farthest from the door in a forgotten corner lit by it's own candle. While the meal was just a cup to a man, the portion was more than generous for a Hobbit half that height and weight. She welcomed the steam on her chilled face, and ate happily in the buzz of drunken chatter from the rest of the room.

So engrossed in her time, in fact, she missed the tall figure that sneaked around to set himself on the bench across her table. Her green eyes looked up slowly into the hooded face, vision glazed by nearly finishing the tall drink in the mug at her left.

"...If you're looking for work, I can't start any new projects until tomorrow afternoon."

"I'm not interested in your business. I want you to leave immediately."

The alcohol made her irritated, and she sat up to narrow her eyes at the stranger. "I've made no disturbance; you have no right to tell me I have to leave."

"I don't mean the tavern. You can have this night, Halfling, but guard your footsteps thoroughly. Word has begun to spread that the mongrel child of Elliya and Karan is alive and hiding in the West."

Her eyes widened, and she hoped he hadn't heard her gasp over the noise behind them. "Curb how you speak to me, stranger. Those are strong words towards someone who is neither a criminal or a fiend."

"You misunderstand me, madam, I come here not to slander you. Take this as a warning that you are being hunted. The Elves are searching diligently, and will soon be sending soldiers into the Shire to find and capture the child of mixed blood."

"Why? What do they want from me?"

"You are the first of your kind. They wish to keep you locked up, kept as a prize under their watchful eye."

Aryn glared into her empty plate, breathing heavily through her nose when she looked back up at the hooded man. "Then let them come. They will never take me willing, as long as I have something to fight for. My roots have been made, and I don't intend to leave."

"Oh, spare me your foolish sentiments." He spat, leaning forward to expose icy blue eyes in the candlelight.

"You are not safe here. Leave the Shire, run for the Iron Hills or the Blue Mountains."

"... Because the Elves wouldn't step foot in a Dwarvish colony."

"Precisely. Protect your freedom while you are still nothing more than a hushed whisper amongst quiet company."

The Halfling stared into her drink, eyes shooting up to look at the man accusingly. "How did you find me?"

"You don't know me, but I know you, Aryn. I've always known where you are, and I just had to look for the smallest auburn head in the room."

"It seems awfully rude, don't you think? That I should not know you as well?"

He stood gracefully, pulling the hood back down to shield his eyes from the candlelight. "The less we know about each other, the safer you will be. Head my warning, little one, and good luck."

Her sentence was cut off by the twirl of his long coat as the powerful figure strode towards the back door. She went to stand abruptly, but only quick enough to see him disappear completely from the doorway.

There were no windows in the dark tavern, and the mysterious figure slipped easily from sight down the alleyway along the side of the inn. A second hooded figure darted in from the street, linking their arms together and pulling them away from the streetlight. This other stranger pulled down his hood, revealing a blonde elf with wild, green eyes and worried frown.

"Írdor, did you find her? What did she say?"

Our first hooded figure finally pulled back his own hood, unveiling an elf of a light brunette color and dark brows to frame his stern blue eyes. "The halfbreed is alive and well. She is staying the night here before going back home to the Whitfurrows."

"She agreed to travel to the East?"

"More or less."

"Well, that is not for certain. We must follow her in the morning to ensure she intends to flee."

"My sister's child is a precious stone that our kind are willing to fight to possess. We have already taken a terrible risk by coming here to issue a warning. Any more time abroad can only rouse suspicion. We must make for Imladris tonight, Faedin."

The blonde sighed through his nose, admitting defeat as he pulled the hood back over his hair. He begged his most trusted friend. "I think we're making a terrible mistake by leaving her alone. She's defenseless, Írdor. Let us take her ourselves far away from here."

"We are not what she needs, mellon. Her life is her own now, and we would only make matters more complicated."

Faedin's brilliant green eyes watered gently as he stared pleadingly into his friend's much colder gaze. "...Would you not do more for Elliya's daughter?"

"Have faith that she won't need me anymore. She already has an advantage. I've given her the gift of foresight."

* * *

Aryn was pulled from her memories when she heard the men's stories subside into a second chorus of snoring and heavy breathing. The uneasiness of the past was exciting her nerves, and she burrowed her face in the coat that made due for a pillow. Thorin noticed the movement from his seat on the rocks, and looked down to watch her squirm in what he thought was a terrible dream.

Looking around for witnesses, he stepped down as quietly as a dwarf could and leaned over to pull the blanket up to her chin. His fingers lingered as they pulled away, smoothing the unruly hair around her face.

Aryn remembered vividly the feeling of helplessness and fear that came along with that night at the Prancing Pony. A fear that she was doomed to never truly belong anywhere with her parents legacy looming over her head. But in the wake of the smallest act of kindness by the Dwarf King, a blossom of hope sprung up in her heart. Maybe, at the end of this long journey, the dwarves will have lead her to a place she could finally call home.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I apologize if it wasn't as exciting as the previous chapters, but every story has it's patches of intermediate action. Critiques are always welcome, that's why I post here at FF. If you see something that could be different/better, or notice a flaw in the facts, send me a message and let me know. Heck, if you're confused and have a question, PLEASE speak up. No good story leaves certain questions unanswered. Feedback is what I live for! Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed.


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